


Deep and Crisp and Even

by Merixcil



Series: Advent Fics 2018 [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25205287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: Spoiling virgin snow is a whole lot of fun, and Wayne Manor has plenty of the stuff to spare
Relationships: John Constantine/Bruce Wayne
Series: Advent Fics 2018 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824643
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Deep and Crisp and Even

The Voice is a small time crook who, as it transpires, has absolutely no interest in the occult arts. He just likes using AV material from the school he works at to trick people into thinking their house is haunted, which in some cases scares them away for long enough that he can take his time with his burglaries. Really, the guy just needs to learn to pick a lock.

“I told you I had better things to be doing.” John lights a fag and leans up against the wall of the rather nice old renovated tenement block that they caught The Voice having a go at. The snow is still falling thick overhead and he likes the way the cherry at the end of the cigarette contrasts with the scattered white. 

Below the cowl, Bruce’s brows draw together and his mouth goes flat. “My apologies for keeping you from your work.”

Trouble with Bruce is he doesn’t like waste, not one bit. Whether it be his time or anyone else’s. It’s a quirk John is more or less certain he learnt from Alfred, who keeps the Manor fridges (plural) so well stocked in I Made This Last Week you would think he had a hard on for mold. 

If Alfred has a hard on for anything he’s delightfully coy about it. John would consider his queer-dar one of the best in the business but it doesn’t know what to make of the Wayne family butler. 

The police take their sweet time getting to them, apparently held up by the weather though the roads are more or less clear in the city. To the eternal detriment of the pavements, which have become a holding space for grey sludge that used to be snow. Luckily for them, The Voice is rather meek, having been caught. He’s a young guy, with one of those weird posh east coast American accents that sounds like it’s trying to be British. Bruce, sorry, _The Batman_ , has him in a loose pair of cuffs and he may or may not be crying. 

“Listen, please just let me go. I promise I won’t-”

“Shut up.” Bruce says, wearily. He was gearing up for a rather more eventful evening. 

The Voice nods towards John. “Who’s he?”

“My associate.” Bruce tugs lightly on the cuffs, reminding the kid that they’re metal and when they get tight, they hurt. 

John waves hello at The Voice and blows out a cloud of smoke, watching snowflakes cut through it. Doesn’t do to indulge in too much banter in front of a Gotham Villain. It ruins The Batman’s mystique. 

By the time the coppers arrive, John’s gotten over the magic of standing in the snow. He’s cold, and about ready to head back to the Manor and talk Bruce out of his ridiculous super suit. It takes a good twenty minutes to hash out the details of what The Voice is responsible for and for everyone to give a statement, and then the Bat is gone in the blink of an eye. 

John grins. He’s seen plenty of people cast teleportation spells, or charm themselves invisible, but Bruce is the only street magician he’s ever met who really makes sleight of hand look magic. He starts back down the street, heading for the alley where the batmobile is parked up, and isn’t at all surprised to find the engine already running and Bruce ready to go when he crawls into the passenger seat. 

“Ready when you are.” John flicks his fag butt into the snow and lets the door fall closed. 

Bruce stares him down, cowl still up like he thinks that’s going to intimidate a man who plays with demons. “Seat belt.”

“Alright, dad.”

The car slips through the streets of Gotham with relative ease, despite the snow and the ungodly volume of people crowding every available shopping centre. A week till Christmas and everyone’s gone into overdrive on the gift buying front. Not John, he gives everyone socks and if they complain, reminds them that they’re never not useful. 

As soon as they’re into Kane Country, the going gets rougher. Bruce may be an objectively good driver but he's reckless at the best of times, and as the steaming damp of the city gives way to snow compacted down into ice, John becomes progressively happier that he was talked into wearing his seat belt. 

“Steady!” He cautions, feeling the wheels of the car slip under Bruce’s hands. 

Bruce lets out a low growl. “I know these roads.”

“But do you know this ice?” 

By the time they make it back to the manor, rolling up the neatly ploughed drive, they have had approximately five near death experiences by John’s count. Or at least, five near ‘thrown off the road and into a ditch to take their chances in the New Jersey countryside’ experiences. He would also concede that if they’d been at all careful, they’d barely be out of Gotham right now. 

The Manor is as imposing as ever, the dark stone hacked into the most obvious parody of a haunted house that John's ever seen. Sometimes he wishes a demon would break through the wards he has up here, just to complete the picture. The light pouring out of the windows is warm though, all the kids home in preparation for Christmas. Damian doesn’t celebrate it and Dick grew up with far too many holidays crowding his multicultural horizon to feel overly fondly for any one in particular, but they still come. 

Up on the hills, without the cumulative effect of traffic and warm bodies to take the edge off, the snow is thick. A knee high blanket that reflects the light coming in off the city below, making the whole estate shine. In the distance, John can just about pick out the line of trees marking the edge of the land known as Wayne Manor and the beginning of whatever outrageously wealthy family’s property counts as the next door neighbours. 

Bruce starts up towards the house. Realistically the snow is too thick to take the usual route into the cave, so he’ll have to go in through the study to activate the second garage port to get the batmobile back where it belongs. Even if it’s dark, and he’s not expecting anyone, and there’s next to no chance of someone coming all the way up his drive by accident, he’s still stressing over whether or not he might be seen. 

Promising himself that he just needs the one hit, just a little taste to sate his inborn need to destroy that which is perfect. John raises up a foot and comes down hard on the undisturbed purity of the snow covered lawn. The snow sticks to his jeans, threatening to melt and soak him as soon as he’s through the front door, but he figures he can live with that. He doesn’t plan on keeping his trousers on for too long. 

“Constantine!” Bruce calls 

John blinks at his snow covered shoe, then at the virgin snow curling round the side of the house, promising a garden half the size of Hyde Park painted in its image. There are only so many nights in the year when the world looks beautiful all on its own and when he has the time to enjoy it. 

And Bruce does hate waste. 

Slowly and deliberately, giving any master of stealth more than enough time to get out of the way, John reaches down and gathers up two handfuls of snow into a ball. He turns back to Bruce and utilises his less than stellar aim to send it sailing right over his head, not so much as nicking the ears of the cowl. 

Bruce doesn’t move. “Come on, John. It’s cold, and I need to get the batmobile inside.”

“Is that so.” John cocks his mouth into a smirk and prepares to fire his second snow ball. “Then we better make this quick.”

The time the snowball hits Bruce right in the tit, where it hangs on for half a second before flopping unceremoniously to the ground.

Bruce watches it go, and when he steps towards John he’s not smiling but he’s close to breaking. “Ten minutes.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.” John grins at him, then takes off over the lawn. He stumbles and trips, laughing at himself when he leaves a John Constantine shaped print in the snow. Every time his feet crack the surface, a fresh wave of delight washes over him, like the thrill of writing the first word in a blank journal. 

The unsullied page of Wayne Manor goes on forever. Warning shots sail past John’s ears and he knows Bruce is only joking, so he hurls handfuls of snow barely compressed enough to fly straight at his assailant and is entirely unsurprised when none of them hit home. 

“Is that all you got?” He asks, stumbling to his feet after a particularly graceless fall. 

Bruce is on top of him, looming large enough to block out the Manor. “John, you’re soaked. We should get you inside.”

Spoken like a man who didn’t spend enough time rolling in mud for fun as a kid. It’s not an easy skill to learn, but if you catch Bruce unawares, it’s almost easy to knock him on his arse. John waits till he’s mid step them makes a beeline for the right pressure points. 

The cape fans out behind him, making a delightful whomping noise as Bruce hits the snow with a startled yelp. John pumps the air in victory. “Get in!” 

His success is short lived as a snowball hits him square in the mouth. Looking down, Bruce has pushed back the cowl and his eyes are gleaming, his stubble just starting to grow in and his jawline would be enough to leave John weak at the knees regardless. Fucking beautiful. 

“Don’t think you ought to have done that, John.” He murmurs, the idea of a smile suggesting itself to his lips. 

“You talk a big game, Bat Boy.” John starts off across the lawn again, further into the dark. “Lets see if you can put your money where you’re mouth is.”

By the time they make it to the dinner table, they’ve lost a whole lot more then ten minutes. 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted as part of a multi chaptered 'advent fics' fic that I'm trying to split up. If you think you've read it before, you probably have
> 
> Comments on the previous posting of this fic (just ask if you want me to remove yours) include:
> 
> >melody1987: Yes. Thank you. I love  
> >>Merixcil: Good good!
> 
> >Bright_Elen: Oh god this ship has critical levels of disaster human and yet this snippet is just so wholesome? Nice job :)  
> >>Merixcil: John and Bruce work so WELL together in my head! I guess because they're both functional disaster humans who can easily make up for what the other lacks  
> >>Thanks so much for all the comments and I hope you have a fantastic Christmas!!


End file.
